Treecat Wars (38 page)

Jessica nodded. “I noticed when we were treating him, and it’s more obvious now that he’s on my shoulder. This guy’s heavier than Survivor was. His ribs don’t stick out nearly as much. Do you think he might be from that other clan?”

Anders shrugged. “Maybe. Was he a prisoner of war, then? A hostage? Someone they took in when he got hurt?”

“I’m not sure we’ll ever know,” Jessica said. “But maybe he’s the guide we’ve been hoping for.”

As they hiked deeper into the spreading trees, they felt the forest coming back to life around them. Where the Skinny ’Cats had been, there were few avians, certainly no small creatures. Even the plants were thinner. Now their passage disturbed numerous living things, only partially glimpsed as they retreated. The leaves overhead lost much of the singed look.

“But there’s still fire damage,” Anders said, “and with everything around burned out, whoever lives here isn’t going to be able to count on natural migration. Those burned areas will act as a sort of moat, at least for ground creatures.”

“Flying ones, too,” Jessica said. “Only hunters like open areas, though large herds will risk them, because the chance of being attacked is spread among so many. But there’s nothing out in those blackened areas for a flock to forage on.”

They didn’t talk much. Once Jessica said, “Valiant’s taking point, but I think the guy on my back is actually giving directions.”

“Guide,” Anders said. “Let’s call him ‘Guide.’ ‘The guy on my back’ sounds kind of kinky.”

Jessica laughed. “Okay. ‘Guide’ it is. There’s something else, though. They’re both edgy. I’m not sure why, but they are.”

Anders patted his handgun. “I’m ready. Want me to carry the gun in my hand like a holo drama hero?”

Jessica’s reply turned into a scream as something came tearing at terrific speed from behind them and landed directly on her head.

* * *

Later, Dirt Grubber would realize that the taste of menace that was Swimmer’s Scourge’s muted mind-glow had been with them for some time before the attack. At the time, his own dread of what might happen when they reached Trees Enfolding Clan, combined with the need to follow directions from Nimble Fingers, serve as a scout for their little group, and filter the strong emotions flowing to him from both Windswept and Bleached Fur, were enough to make him not as aware of the approaching enemy as he might have been.

Then, too, like Nimble Fingers, Dirt Grubber did not really believe that Swimmer’s Scourge would attack when the two-legs were present. In the end, both he and Nimble Fingers were wrong—and they were right.

When Swimmer’s Scourge attacked, he was aiming not for Windswept, but for Nimble Fingers who rode with his true hands on her shoulder and his head level with her own. What this meant was that both of them suffered the violence of the insane Person’s assault.

Nimble Fingers had thick fur and was a fighter, besides. Windswept, however thick the long hair that grew atop her head, was a poor naked-faced creature. Swimmer’s Scourge’s leap carried him so that his fangs, true-hands, and hand-feet could rend at Nimble Fingers, but this left his true-feet—and their wicked claws—scrabbling at Windswept’s head.

Dirt Grubber felt his two-leg’s shock and pain as immediately as if they were his own, but since they were
not
his own, he was free to leap to her rescue. He was not alone in this. Feeble as he was, Nimble Fingers was fighting as much in the two-leg’s defense as in his own. His wrath lashed out at his uncle, even as his wounds made his return attacks weak.

But it was Bleached Fur who resolved matters—although at terrible risk to himself. Taller than Windswept, he was in a good position to grab Swimmer’s Scourge in both hands and pull him away. Shocked by the feeling of large, alien hands grasping him firmly and a strong voice shouting right in his ears, Swimmer’s Scourge actually released his hold. It was only for a moment, but a moment was enough.

Dirt Grubber knew Swimmer’s Scourge would not be quelled for long. Leaving his two-leg bleeding and uncomforted was its own pain, but he must stop Swimmer’s Scourge. The Person was a menace to himself and to all around him. If he fled into the forest, what new harm might he cause?

Flinging himself on the other, Dirt Grubber struggled to hold Swimmer’s Scourge without hurting him—for killing another Person out of hand was not the action of a sane Person and although angered and frightened, Dirt Grubber was not insane. Yet he was built for hunting, and six sets of razor-sharp claws longed to treat Swimmer’s Scourge as he would a particularly difficult lake-builder.

The roiling currents of Swimmer’s Scourge’s mind-glow—for he seemed beyond speech—were enough to remind Dirt Grubber that this was no lake-builder. This was a Person, a Person as wounded in mind as Keen Eyes had been in body.

Yet could he hold him without doing him harm—or being injured himself? Dirt Grubber was beginning to doubt his abilities when someone else took a hand.

* * *

Anders knew how quickly a pleasant day could turn into a nightmare, but he’d been so enjoying being out for a walk with both Jessica and two treecats—one of them “wild”—that even with Jessica’s apprehensions he was completely unprepared for the sudden attack.

Jessica’s screams first froze him, then brought him into furious action. The gun he’d been about to draw would be useless in such close quarters. Instead, hoping with all his heart that he wouldn’t make matters worse, he grabbed the attacking treecat firmly by its midsection and lifted it up and away from Jessica and Guide. He wanted to keep a hold on it, but the treecat swiveled its midsection with the clear intent of turning those murderous claws on him next.

Faced by that threat, Anders threw the treecat to the ground as hard as he could. He hoped he’d stun it or something—after all, Sphinx’s gravity was very high—but treecats were made to live in that environment. This one would have sprung up almost immediately, but Valiant leapt on it.

Anders expected to see blood gush forth, but he quickly realized that while Valiant was trying to stop the other ’cat, he was also trying to wrestle it to inaction without inflicting more than minor injuries. Although he had no idea why Valiant would be so merciful toward an attacker, Anders knew he must follow the ’cat’s lead.

We’re trying to stop a war
, he thought,
not make it worse. Maybe that’s what Valiant is trying to do
.

As he thought that, he had an idea. Dashing forward, he unbuckled the counter-grav unit from where he always wore it at his waist and adjusted the dial.

If I can just get this on top of the other ’cat….

As he struggled beneath the suddenly greater pull of gravity upon his own body, Anders sought to get the counter-grav unit on top of the pitching bundle of fur. Like many great ideas, it wasn’t nearly as easy to implement as he’d thought it would be, but in the end he managed to set the unit on top of the attacking treecat and switched the setting over so that the ’cat would suddenly feel much, much heavier. At the same time, he used his free hand to push Valiant away.

His idea worked wonderfully. The attacker ’cat gave a strangled wail and struggled to move, but Anders knew firsthand what an incredible burden even a third more gravity could be, and he’d given this fellow quite a bit more—although he hoped not enough to cause him injury.

Anders then stripped off his jacket and bundled it around the attacker’s front end, doubtless ending the jacket’s usefulness but assuring that those deadly fangs and claws were tearing into nothing more important than fabric.

Valiant joined him. Together, using various items (including the spare socks Anders always carried), they bound the kicking true-feet, then the hand-feet, and lastly the true-hands. Certain that the treecat could not escape, Anders reclaimed his counter-grav unit. Leaving the treecat’s head shrouded, he raced to Jessica’s side.

Both she and Guide were bloody messes. Her lovely face was marred with long claw marks, one of which narrowly missed her left eye. She’d been knocked to the ground by the force of the sudden attack and she was shivering with pain, but even so she had the presence of mind to pull out the first aid kit.

“Anders!” she said, looking at him in shock. “You’re bleeding!”

“So are you,” he said, kneeling next to her and taking the kit from her shaking hands. “And I can honestly say ‘just a flesh wound’ about mine—really just a few scratches. Let’s look at you.”

“Guide!” she said.

“You,” he insisted, speaking sternly to cover his own fear that he was going to find horrible injuries. “Even Valiant agrees. Now be good. Can you lie back? There, rest your head on my pack.”

In preparation for the trip to Sphinx, Anders had brushed up on his first aid. He’d even had a chance or two to use it, but he was relieved to see that despite the amount of blood, Jessica’s attacker had missed any vital areas. Most of the claw marks were on her forehead, scalp, and upper face. Her eyes had been missed, so had her nose, except for a thin scratch.

First, he gave her something to dull the pain, then set about cleaning the wounds. Once he was pretty sure he’d gotten rid of any chance of infection, he pressed loose flaps of skin into place, then sprayed on quick heal.

To one side, Anders glimpsed Valiant at work on Guide, licking various wounded areas clear of blood. At one point, Valiant came over and took a thick gauze pad from the kit, but Anders didn’t pause to see what he wanted it for. However, when he finished doing what he could for Jessica, he squeezed her hand.

“Rest quietly for a moment. I’m going to see if Guide needs any help.”

Valiant was sitting next to Guide, holding the gauze pad—now bloodsoaked—to the other ’cat’s right ear. He bleeked at Anders, pointed to Guide’s now cleaned wounds, and made a gesture very like using a quick heal sprayer.

“Got you,” Anders said, and followed directions, adding on his own initiative a spray or two of antiseptic. He figured treecat spit was probably good enough, but why take a risk? “Now, let me see that ear.”

He motioned and Valiant understood. Very carefully, Valiant pulled away the pad to reveal the complete ruin of what had only moments before been a perky treecat ear. The wreckage was still seeping blood, and Valiant clamped the pad back down.

Anders fought an urge to gag, swallowed hard, then reached back into the first aid kit.

“First stop the bleeding. If you can’t, figure out if something major has been cut and seal the wound…” he muttered to himself.

He managed the first two steps. Since none of the treecats they’d tended back at the camp had been freshly wounded, the kit still held all its trauma supplies. With Valiant’s help—he’d started that thrumming purr again—Anders got the wound cleaned and treated. He didn’t think anything could be done to replace the ear, but at least Guide wouldn’t be in so much pain.

Anders was finishing up when he heard an urgent “bleek” from Valiant. The ’cat had risen all the way onto his true-feet and was pointing in the direction in which they’d been heading. Anders turned to look.

The attacking treecat lay where they’d left him, still bound, although he’d managed to toss his head free from the enclosing folds of Anders’ jacket and lay glowering.

But that wasn’t what had Valiant’s attention. He was looking beyond their captive, up into the forest canopy. Anders looked into the trees and gasped.

The branches were full of treecats and, if he was any judge of that species, they were not at all happy.

Chapter Twenty

Dirt Grubber’s mind was almost overwhelmed by the flood of unfamiliar mind-glows. Normally, he would not have found meeting even an entire clan all that difficult, but these People were unhappy and the force of their emotions was directed fully at him.

Complicating matters was the swirl of dark and incoherent emotions coming from where Swimmer’s Scourge lay bound. The elder Person’s mind voice was silent, but the anger and tension that flowed from him was so powerful that it made Dirt Grubber anxious and tense. He found it difficult to shape a coherent thought, and he wished he could simply beat away this newest complication.

Fortunately, Nimble Fingers was a tough sort—or maybe he was more accustomed to the madness that was Swimmer’s Scourge. He broadcast as loudly and firmly as he could, <
This is my friend Dirt Grubber of the Damp Ground and Windswept Clans. Without the help of him and his two-leg friends, I would not be speaking with you
.>

He went on, swiftly sharing images of how Swimmer’s Scourge had attacked them, how Bleached Fur had broken the assault, then tended the injured. Without leaving room for comment or debate, he segued immediately into images of what he had learned from Keen Eyes regarding the death of Red Cliff. In the manner of the People, this vast wash of information was shared even more quickly than the original events had unfolded.

As Nimble Fingers concluded, a brown figure with white spots separated herself from the general throng. Politely, she introduced herself to Dirt Grubber, <
I am Pleasant Singer, senior memory singer of the Trees Enfolding Clan
.>

She did not need to say how shocked and appalled those assembled were by what they had just learned, nor that the news would be relayed to those of the clan who had remained behind at their central nesting place. Dirt Grubber could taste that in the framing of her thoughts.

Pleasant Singer continued, <
Can you believe that we knew nothing of this? Nimble Fingers’ report is like the breeze that sweeps away the fog. I see now that our minds have been fogged since the days when the fires threatened us and gnawed at our territory. Our losses were not as great as those of this Landless Clan, but they were enough to leave us in turmoil
.>

Dirt Grubber understood. Pleasant Singer’s words were accompanied by images that made him shiver. Most of the time a clan benefited from shared mind-glows. If one mind was out of balance—due to illness or injury—then there were mind healers to rebalance it, as a more usual healer would clean and treat physical wounds.

But the mind healers of Trees Enfolding Clan had been overwhelmed by the need of their clan mates. Then, too, Swimmer’s Scourge had possessed the cunning of his insanity. He had hidden his deeper unbalanced state within the cloak of the general unsettled situation of the clan. As a scout, he had also had ample excuse to stay away from the central nesting place. Lastly, the mind healers, so overstressed by the many demands upon them, had simply not looked deeply beneath the surface of the thoughts of such a respected senior. However, the inner turmoil of Swimmer’s Scourge had not been unfelt. It had seeped into the general mood of the clan, eventually tipping the balance so that the members who felt most threatened by Landless Clan’s presence when their own range was so reduced had overreacted when Nimble Fingers had been taken.